Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Spotlight on: Hurricane Helms

Remember this guy? His name is Shane Helms. That is his shoot name. I don't care what his Wiki entry says. Mother fucker's name is Shane. He first showed up in WCW after a long, distinguished career as a professional football player. I don't care what his Wiki entry says. Mother fucker played football. He suffered a very serious neck injury after being dumped on his head by eternal shit bag Alonzo Spellman in training camp one year when Helms had the balls to tell Spellman that pro wrestling was the strongest fighting style ever. Fuck Spellman for doing that. Anyways, contrary to his fucked up, obviously hacked Wiki entry, Helms had never met those two pussies Matt and Jeff Hardy before they all ended up in WWE. Not even a chance encounter at a Waffle House. Shane was way too busy fucking Ric Flair's hot daughter, David, to hang out with those two douches. With his football career over, Shane walked into the Power Plant one day and shoot beat the shit out of Sgt. Buddy Lee Parker and demanded that he be given a WCW contract. Fearing for his life, Parker gave the man what he wanted. Shane showed up on the next Nitro and ran in on the main event, press slamming Goldberg and shoot kicking Bret Hart so hard that it turned him into a bitter retard and made him retire. The next day Shane bought WCW for pennies on the dollar, but later that night he lost the company to Vince McMahon in a high stakes game of "Bet on Who Will Die Next". (Shane picked Scott Steiner while Vince picked his maid 'Juanita' who he then shot in the head with a single shot Derringer, thus securing the win). As part of the bet Shane was forced to change his shoot name to the much shittier Gregory and he had to go to work for Vince. Shane/Gregory's mother has a really rare and fucked up disease that requires hella money to treat so he had no choice but to work for the devil (Mr. McMahon). During this time Ric Flair's daughter caught him fucking Terry Funk's daughter and all hell broke loose. The two fathers became incensed when they heard about this. Flair went on record as saying that his daughter had to be the better lay because she worked both heel and babyface. Funk countered that his daughter could carry a broomstick to a **** fuck. The two men never spoke to each other again. Meanwhile, Shane/Gregory had moved on and was now fucking the woman he would one day marry, Stacy Keibler. Shane/Gregory was getting drunk with Billy Kidman one night and made a bet that he could take any gimmick and get over with it. Kidman was a huge fucking nerd so he dared Helms to do a comic book hero gimmick. Helms, unaware about what exactly a comic book hero was supposed to be like (because he isn't a fucking SQUARE) stayed up all night reading every comic book ever written. He then decided that since all comic book heroes are fucking lame that he would come up with a totally original one that no one had even thought of: The Hurricane. The character derived his power from his green hair and huge dong. He debuted the following night and won the WWE World Heavyweight title in 45 seconds, forcing the late Superstar "Stone Cold" Steve Austin to submit to his brutal, legit painful pet submission hold "The Cock Lock"(Austin was fatally stabbed to death in the shower by the aforementioned piece of shit, Alonzo Spellman, but the crowd was so busy cheering for Hurricane that no one gave a fuck). Hurricane went on to hold the belt for an astonishing 6 years before settling down with his newest wife, Ann Coulter, and raising a family consisting of 3 sons (Eddy, Rey Jr. and Kofi). He was awarded a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu black belt by the late Ryan Gracie. The two would later have a falling out after Ryan stole some of Hurricane's blood and got high off it. Ryan wound up stealing a police car, raping a police horse and eventually his heart blew the fuck up because it couldn't handle Hurricane's shit. Hurricane did not go to the wake but did send the Gracie family a condolence ham. To this day the entire Gracie family (even the fake ones) refer to Hurricane as "Hurricane Gracie". Hurricane managed to stay away from the bright lights of pro wrestling until the WWE Hall of Fame came calling. The night before Wrestlemania XX Canadian midget and child molester Chris Benwaa had the huge fucking honor of inducting the greatest wrestler to ever live into a fake hall of fame. During Hurricane's induction speech Benwaa became so overwhelmed by emotion that he drove straight to the airport, flew home and killed his wife and son. While speaking to the cheering crowd Hurricane told them to shut the fuck up and listen. He told them, despite their "ONE MORE MATCH" chants that he was finished with wrestling. He told them to get a fucking life and that he was too busy sitting at home, fucking wife #3 Tub Girl, and that he had moved on and it was time for them to do the same thing. One fan wearing a lucha mask ran onto the stage and Hurricane kicked the shit out of him and then gave him a shoot vertebreaker. As his assailant lay on the stage, dying, Hurricane removed the mask to reveal that it was none other than previously mentioned shit stain Alonzo Spellman. Spellman's dying words were "Pro... Football... Strongest... Fighting Style..." As the life left his body Hurricane leaned over and closed the eyes of his fallen foe. He then turned his attention to the stunned crowd and said "You have now seen my last match. I am finished spilling blood. I will now live out the rest of my days in solitude. Fuck you all." Vince McMahon was so moved that now every single WWE televised show begins by airing that snippet from Hurricane's farewell address. Hurricane no longer grants interviews. He is a man clearly haunted by his past. None of us will never forget what he gave us.

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In the days of ancient Rome men tried to best each other physically by imposing their will on one other. Sometimes this lead to the death of one of the competitors. Sometimes it lead to a friendship or brotherhood bond being formed. More often than not it ended with the two dudes fucking the shit out of each other. Faggotry and wrestling have long had a mutually parasitic relationship. Where faggotry is afoot wrestling cannot be far behind. Where there is wrestling you can rest assured that faggotry is nearby, jerking off furiously. This is the way it has always been and the way it shall always be. Though men have tried to change this dynamic throughout the ages they have all failed. Spandex, pyrotechnics, midgets, fake tits and sports entertainment cannot mask the overwhelming scent of gay that always accompanies wrestling. You can always be certain of these three things: The sun always rises in the morning, politicians always lie and wrestling will always be gay as fuck. We are merely observers; scribes charged with the duty of recording, analyzing and mocking this faggotry. These are our words.